


Words and Music

by ami_ven



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Anniversary, Community: writerverse, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 19:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2594168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven asks B’Elanna for some advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Music

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "writerverse" prompt "written in the stars" (1k+ words)

“To be honest, Seven,” said B’Elanna, “I don’t know how you’ve put up with him this long.”

“The same could be said for your own romantic relationship,” Seven countered, and both women smiled at each other across the small café table. There was a gentle breeze, ruffling the decorative trees that lined San Francisco’s main street, and carrying the sounds of other conversations until they were a jumble of pleasant background noise. It was a perfect day for meeting an old friend for coffee, and advice.

Sometimes, it didn’t seem that long ago that Seven had been disconnected from the Borg Collective, still striving for perfection, and B’Elanna had been an acquaintance at best, angry at the universe and everyone in it. In the beginning, they had hardly ever spoken, except perhaps in briefings with the entire crew. Seven, at the time, had honestly thought she had nothing in common with the half-Klingon woman. She valued logic, where B’Elanna preferred emotions, and when they _did_ begin having regular interactions, they were so often at odds that Seven had sometimes doubted that they would ever have a civilized conversation.

But their time in the Delta Quadrant, aboard _Voyager_ , had made them a family that five years of different assignments, back in the Alpha Quadrant, couldn’t weaken. Even though they were no longer serving together, the entire crew temporarily reassigned while _Voyager_ was overhauled and her logs reviewed, Seven made an effort to maintain the interpersonal relationships she had developed there. And in that time, B’Elanna had gone from a source of confusion and frustration, to a trusted colleague and, amazingly, a dear friend.

Across the table, B’Elanna laughed. “Oh, that’s certainly true,” she agreed. “If someone had told me, when we first got stranded out there, that I was going to end up married— happily!— to _Tom Paris_ , I’d have probably punched them for having such a terrible sense of humor.”

“Your proclivity for violence at that time was well-known,” said Seven, but now she was teasing and they both knew it. 

And that was why Seven had asked B’Elanna to meet her for coffee. Because she knew that the engineer would give her the most sound advice, without much of the usual human romantic fallacies involved. She also knew that B’Elanna wouldn’t make too much of her request— as a Borg, Seven had never had to ask anything, because she knew what the Collective knew, but she had not yet gotten completely used to relying on others, even members of her _Voyager_ family. 

“So,” said B’Elanna, with a friendly smile over the rim of her mug. “Five years with the Doctor. I know I said I couldn’t believe it, but I’m happy for you both. Really.”

“Thank you,” said Seven. “But this is not purely a social call. I require your assistance.”

“You mean that you want to do something special for the Doctor, for your five-year anniversary, right? Because I’ll be happy to help.”

Seven nodded, running a finger along the ridge of her left eyebrow— it was where her Borg implant had been, and she had developed the habit of tracing its absence in the years since the Caeliar had eliminated all Borg technology.

“Neither of us are entirely human,” she said, “but the human tradition of marking such an anniversary seems appropriate.”

“Well, I hope you’re not expecting to use our marriage as your example,” said B’Elanna, sipping her mocha latte. “For our fifth anniversary, I agreed to play Constance Goodheart in Tom’s _Captain Proton_ holo-novel, and he changed the program so that I got my own ray gun to help defeat the Army of Evil.”

“I often participate in holodeck recreations with the Doctor,” said Seven. “But I’m not sure that my husband is as enthusiastic about his holoprograms as yours is. Despite being one himself.” She smiled, then paused and poured more tea from the small heated pot into her cup. “Do you remember, several years ago, the planet _Voyager_ encountered, where the indigenous people had advanced math but no music, and the Doctor behaved… somewhat foolishly?”

“Oh, I remember,” B’Elanna said, dryly.

“When he realized his folly, the Doctor was quite despondent. So, in order to cheer him up, I wrote him a letter of ‘fanmail’.”

“Really?” the other woman asked. “That’s… that’s sweet actually.”

“It was the first time since being disconnected from the Collective that I had performed an action for the sole purpose of improving another individual’s emotional state, and I…” Seven paused again, idly stirring sugar into her tea. “There is a gift I have been considering, but I required a second opinion to know… if he would like it.”

Wrapping both hands around her teacup, Seven explained her idea, and B’Elanna gave a surprised laugh.

“Was I wrong?” Seven worried.

The engineer placed a hand over her wrist, grinning. “He’ll _love_ it, Seven, I promise.”

*

In the early evening, on their anniversary, Seven and the Doctor took a walk through the grounds of the Presidio, watching San Francisco light up against the darkening sky. The evening was cool, with only a trace of the heat from the earlier day, though the gentle breeze had stayed. Seven caught her husband’s hand, lacing their fingers together as they walked.

“Thank you again for the flowers,” she said, leaning against his side. “They’re lovely.”

“Not half as lovely as you,” the Doctor replied, smiling.

She smiled back. “I have a gift for you, as well.”

“Seven…” said the Doctor, accepting the PADD she slid from her purse and held out to him. “This is… this is a song. Seven, did you _write_ this?”

“It seemed the most appropriate medium to properly express my feelings for you,” she said.

“It’s beautiful! Will you sing it for me?”

“I will require accompaniment,” said Seven. “Perhaps when we return home.”

“Home,” the Doctor repeated. “That sounds wonderful.”

He offered his arm and she took it, starting back down the sidewalk to the small house where they were staying while they were on Earth.

THE END


End file.
